kindnesses: could such a beautiful human flower have grown up under the fostering care of an unscrupulous vagabond and knave? When he got to his rooms, the first thing he did—but with no very definite purpose——was to take up his copy of Black’s Guide to Scotland. It was a recent edition; he had got it so that he might trace out that long wandering of which old George Bethune and Maisrie had spoken so often. And mechanically he turned to the index—with which he had been confronted in his father’s library; and mechanically he glanced at the successive columns. But what was this?—why here was Craig-Royston! His eyes were not deceiving him; for he at once referred to the page indicated, and found Craig-Royston described as a district in the neighbourhood of Loch Lomond—though, to be sure, he could discover no trace of it on the map. So he had jumped to conclusions all too prematurely? He had allowed that unknown enemy of his—that dark and malignant creature in the background—too facile a triumph? He began to be ashamed of himself. ’Stand fast, Craig-Royston!’ had not been his motto, as it was that of the proud old man whom he had injured by listening to those childish tales. He returned to the index, and sought for Balloray. Well, there was no Balloray; but then Balloray was a private house; and private houses, unless of historical interest, are seldom mentioned in guide-books. And then again he bethought him: why, the old ballad!—the ’bonnie mill-dams o’ Balloray’: surely that was sufficient evidence of there being such a place? He could almost hear George Bethune’s voice as he recalled the opening lines— ’There were twa sisters lived in a bower; Balloray, O Balloray; The youngest o’ them, O she was a flower! By the bonnie mill-dams o’ Balloray. There came a squire frae out the west, Balloray, O Balloray; He lo’ed them baith, but the youngest best, By the bonnie mill-dams o’ Balloray.’ "Why, what a fool he had been, to be disconcerted by an index—and that the index of some old and obsolete edition! He prosecuted his researches. He turned to Cadzow. Yes, here was Cadzow: Cadzow Castle and Cadzow Forest; and undoubtedly these were the property of the Duke of Hamilton. But might there not be some other property of the same name, as a sort of appanage of Balloray? It was no unusual thing, in Scotland or anywhere else, for two places to have the same name; and in this instance it was the more important one, the ducal one, that would naturally figure in the guide-book. He seemed to see old George Bethune regarding him, with something of a haughty look on his face, as though he would say ’Of what next will you accuse me?’"